


The Mummy

by MarigoldVance



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (Kíli isn't a helpless lamb), (Tilda might be but she's feisty), (Tíli is a little shit), (fabricated Ancient Egyptian history), (written with the intention of standalone scenes), Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - The Mummy, Falling In Love, Fili & Kili are NOT related, M/M, Mummies, archeology, snack fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: 3000 years ago, a woman fell in love with a man.Now, that love story comes to bite Kíli right in the arse when his brother shows up one afternoon brandishing an ancient artifact that sets off a series of events that Kíli isn't exactly keen to get involved in.Until, of course, he sets eyes on the man who says he can help.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Tíli(OMC)/Tilda
Comments: 35
Kudos: 20





	1. The Legend

**Author's Note:**

> as suggested by my dearests of dears, i'm posting this story as it's written/uploaded on my [Tumblr](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/617008287244746752/the-mummy-au-imagine-3000-years-ago-a-woman). it's not a fully realized story, as some of you may know. instead, it's more of a collection of standalone scenes that, together, create a more complete image. still, i love this lil' beast and i hope you will too!

3000 years ago, a woman fell in love with a man. Equally besotted, the man did all he could to please the woman. Though their desires were accepted, their _love_ was forbidden. For he was pharaoh and his life had already been promised to another. Still, the man did not relinquish the woman, even after his wedding night, and would instead seek her out in secret whenever his days would allow.

One evening, the woman announced that she was with child. Her mother, the woman said - a seer and wisewoman at the temple of Osiris - foresaw that she would bear them a son.

Both were happy and so rejoiced.

Many suns and moons later, a servant to the The Great Royal Wife discovered the boy’s existence. When she was delivered the news, the queen entered a jealous rage for she, despite all efforts, had thus far been unable to bear her husband a child. The queen plotted to kill the boy and, once successful, ordered her husband’s mistress arrested and punished for a blasphemy the woman didn’t commit. 

She was taken to Hamanaptra - the City of the Dead - and given the punishment of Hom-Dai (a curse so potent, so horrible, that it had never before been used). The slaves who performed the task were slain and the soldiers who slaughtered them were killed so that no unholy person remained who knew the whereabouts of the burial site. 

And so there the woman was lost beneath the sand for all time. 

Until now …


	2. And So It Begins

Tíli had a beautiful, easy sort of intelligence. One that had opened doors and invited opportunities without having to grease palms with their parents’ influence. Yet, somehow, in the short time that he and Kíli had been in Egypt, Tíli had managed to squander any and all hope of a respectable career and gamble away his reputation.

Which was why Kíli really shouldn’t have been surprised to discover his menace of a brother had wedged himself into a sarcophagus for amusement’s sake.

Kíli spluttered indignantly, not finding the humor in Tíli’s antics _at all_. As soon as Tíli was sitting upright, Kíli grabbed him by the lapels of his rumpled jacket and hauled him bodily over the lip of the sarcophagus and onto the ground, catching a dizzying whiff of his brother’s brandy-sharp breath.

Kíli struggled to speak, his mounting annoyance knotting his tongue. “You … ! _You_ … _—_ ”

“You!?” Tíli guffawed, teetering backward and almost off his feet before he caught himself on the edge of the sarcophagus behind him, hands scrambling a moment for purchase as he slouched and swayed. His face was blotchy pink and his eyes were glossy, a wide smile spread across his mouth in triumph as he took in Kíli’s reaction to finding him in the Ramesseum. The bastard. “You what!? Drunkard? Fool? Rat-bastard? Please. Call me something original!”

“Argh!” Kíli threw his hands in the air and stomped around to the other side of the sarcophagus, putting as much distance as he could risk between himself and Tíli while he set about rearranging the mummy Tíli had so recklessly disturbed.

“What?” Tíli asked, wobbling two steps to the left before deciding not to move at all. “Not happy to see me?”

Kíli glowered across the space that separated them. “God dammit, Tíli, I can’t believe you.” He bit out, tucking fragile limbs back into place and sending up a prayer to whoever was listening that this mummy wasn’t going to curse him from the afterlife. “Have you no respect for the dead!?”

“None whatsoever!”

Tíli beamed brightly, all graceless and jerky as he watched Kíli return to him. There was something truly excited about his expression which usually meant that Kíli was going to be heckled to perform a favor which would lead to possibly irritating his employer who would proceed to lock Kíli away for all eternity in the library where he’d wither and petrify amongst a collection of dusty books, never be given the chance to shine in the field —

“Kee?” Tíli pressed a finger into Kíli’s chest, digging deep to get Kíli’s attention. “Your eyebrows are getting angrier. Tell them to stop.” 

Kíli shook his head and blinked, coming back to himself, almost grateful to Tíli for interrupting his thoughts as they spiraled. _Almost_. Because Tíli was still a milky little swine who’d snuck into exactly where he didn’t belong, drunk enough to start fires with his breath alone, in order to (Kíli suspected) take advantage of Kíli’s quickly dwindling patience.

“What are you doing here, Tíli?” He didn’t mean to sound short but Kíli was at his wit’s end. “I wish you’d get your act together before you ruin my career as you ruined yours.”

For the briefest moment, Kíli saw the look of apology flicker over Tíli’s face. It was gone instantly, replaced by his usual haughty overconfidence.

“Kíli! Sweet, darling brother mine!” Tíli hiccuped, “I’ll have you know that my career is on a—!” He tilted to the right, corrected himself and held up a finger to signal that he wasn’t finished, to wait a second. Finally, he burped, the sound resonating throughout the Ramesseum. Kíli rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips, coaxing Tíli to continue. “My career is on a high note.”

“A high note!?” Kíli couldn’t believe it. He stepped into Tíli’s space until he was looming over him, glaring down as he ranted, “Ha! For ages you’ve been scrounging around Egypt, and what do you have to show for it!? _Nothing_.”

He spun on his heel and began to pace, waving his arms about as he tried and failed rein in his temper. “I can’t understand how you can simply _come here_ and act like— _what is that_?”

Kíli stopped in his tracks, his argument losing momentum before it had a chance to really get going. Tíli was grinning obnoxiously, pride and self-satisfaction warring for room on his face as Kíli stared, slack-jawed and stunned, at what Tíli held up under Kíli’s nose.

“I can tell you what it isn’t,” Tíli replied with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. “It’s certainly not ‘nothing’.”

Suddenly his tone softened, and he sobered slightly, brow pinching in reflection as he looked at the object in his hand. “This right here has to be _something_.”

Slowly, carefully, Kíli lifted the object from Tíli’s palm. It was lighter than it looked, oddly shaped and covered in hieroglyphs.

“Tíli, where did you get this?”

“On a dig down in Thebes.”

And if Kíli were paying closer attention, he would have noted the slight uptick in Tíli’s tone that suggested he wasn’t being completely truthful. As it was, Kíli was too enthralled with the object to care. He flipped it this way and that, fiddling, mumbling to himself as he squinted to read what was written on every surface. Tíli leaned closer in anticipation, nibbling his lower lip.

“Never in my life have I found anything. _Please_ , Kee, tell me I finally have.”

Kíli glanced up at his brother and offered a kind smile before returning his attention to the object. After a few more moments, he came upon something that stood out when compared to the rest of object’s design. A little embossment, almost invisible.

Curious, Kíli pressed it, felt it give until he was able to twist the top half of the object in one direction and the bottom half in the other.

_Click_

“Tíli,” Kíli whispered, astonished.

“Yes?”

“I think you’ve found something.”


	3. The Library

“Tíli,” Kíli whispered, astonished. 

“Yes?” 

“I think you’ve found something.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a loud crash boomed through the Ramesseum. It came from the library attached, startling Kíli and Tíli from their stupor of discovery.

Quickly, Kíli tucked the object in his pocket and barreled toward the exit, expertly weaving around the statues and display cases in his path. Tíli was close on his heels, scampering to keep up, demanding to know what could’ve possibly caused such a loud disruption.

“An earthquake!?”

“Unlikely! Just hurry up!”

 _Hopefully not rebellion or overenthusiastic treasure thieves either_.

When they emerged in the library, skidding to a halt just over the threshold, Kíli’s heart leapt to his throat and his mouth fell open in shock. It took his brain a second longer to register exactly what his eyes were seeing, the scene before him so unexpected and outrageous that he couldn’t bring himself to believe it could’ve happened.

Through a haze of uplifted dust, he saw the rows of enormous, heavy, thought-to-be-very- _sturdy_ bookshelves all on their backs, toppled like dominoes and emptied (thankfully, at first glance, they appeared to be otherwise undamaged). Books of varying size and age were cast all over the floor, loosed pages fluttering about on the draft gusting through the open windows.

Lord Almighty, passersby probably thought a cannon had been fired. And by the looks of things, they might not have been too wrong. 

Tíli coughed, waving dust out of his face as he squinted around, searching for the source of the catastrophe. At its center - and was Kíli really surprised? - stood Tilda, shoulders curled inward, lip caught and worried between her straight, white teeth.

She met Kíli’s eyes and winced.

“I wasn’t even gone ten minutes.” Kíli despaired.

He knew that, whether or not he’d been directly involved, he was going to be blamed for this. Kíli was supposed to keep an eye on Tilda and anyone else the curator dismissed to the library. He was, in a sense, _in charge_ and being _in charge_ meant being responsible for everything that happened in the library. Including Tilda and her - did _clumsiness_ even suffice to describe it!?

Tilda was kept only because, unlike many who had come and gone in the short time Kíli had been working for the museum, she was the best (after himself, of course) at coding and cataloging the library. A skill they would certainly need given the catastrophic state it was in.

Tilda looked even more dismal, staring at the ground to avoid the full impact of whatever Kíli’s eyebrows were surely expressing.

“Oops?”


	4. It's A Disaster!

Tilda cleared her throat, toeing the ground with the point of her shoe as she turned, her posture timid and nervous and quickly diminishing Kíli’s ire as he took it in.

“Tilda.” He said, firm but hopefully as patient as he intended, “What did you do?”

Before Tilda could open her mouth to explain, the curator stormed in, tripping and sliding over the spilled books even as he tried to avoid them. He picked his way toward them with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, trying and failing to speak as he no doubt struggled, as Kíli had, to grasp _what in God’s name_ happened. The only noise to escape him was a high, strained whine that escaped from somewhere furious within him.

Finally, the curator’s eyes landed on Tilda and her dusty clothes and he knew where to place the blame.

“Look at this!” He hollered, jerking his arms about to encompass the destruction. “ _Sons of the Messiah_! Give me frogs!” He stepped closer to Tilda, ticking off his list with wild gestures, “Give me flies, locusts, _anything_ but _this_! Compared to you, the plagues were a _joy_!”

“Hey now,” Tíli moved himself in front of Tilda, putting a hand on the curator’s shoulder to keep him at a respectable distance. “There’s no need for insults. It wasn’t her fault.” His stance was strong until he considered his words. He glanced to Tilda over his shoulder, “It _wasn’t_ intentional, was it?”

Tilda shook her head, her pretty face scrunching at the smell of Tíli’s breath when it hit her.

“No,” She urgently reassured once she’d wafted away the stink of stale brandy. Bending around Tíli, she insisted, “I swear, I didn’t mean to, Ganda—Mr. Grey! It was an accident! I’m sorry!”

Mr. Grey’s demeanour changed from outrage to disbelief. “When Ramesses destroyed Syria, it was an accident. _You_!? You are a catastrophe!” He turned his eyes to the ceiling as if to beg the heavens for answers, “Why do I put up with you?!”

It was Kíli who took charge of the argument in Tilda’s favor, arms folded in a way that told Mr. Grey he was being absolutely serious. His brows drew together more and more in solemn determination as he spoke, “You put up with her because she can read and write ancient Egyptian as well as I can, if not better. Because she’s the only one, aside from myself, who can properly code and catalogue this library and she does so without complaint. We wouldn't get half as much done in good time without her.”

Tilda smiled gratefully up at Kíli, gaze soft and hand gentle on his arm.

“And she’s the only thing in here worth looking at.” Tíli added, rather proud of himself.

Everyone spared him a moment of reflection at his honesty, Mr. Grey especially unsure how to handle that bit of information. Tilda, for her part, blushed a sweet pink and snapped her lips tightly closed, unwilling to say anything that might spark another outburst.

It didn’t work.

“I put up with her,” Mr. Grey said to Kíli, refusing to acknowledge Tilda at all lest he burst into flame from the anger he trembled to contain, “Because _your_ mother and father were our finest patrons, Allah rest their souls, and _you_ gave me a shining recommendation!” Oh dear … Mr. Grey landed crackling eyes on Kíli as he made it very clear that, “The blame, Mr. Durin, is entirely on you. Where were you that she was given the chance to massacre my library?!”

Ashamed, Kíli rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his feet, “I went to investi—hold on.”

Digging through his pocket, Kíli produced the object Tíli had brought him. He held it up for Mr. Grey to see and was pleased when the mood shifted to something akin to awe.

“Tíli found it,” Kíli said, “We were wondering if you might be interested in assisting us?”

Mr. Grey stepped closer, greedily studying the object. “Of course, yes, please, follow me. And _you_ —” He pointed a finger at Tilda who’d perked up at the sight of the object in Kíli’s hand, “I don't care how you do it. I don't care how long it takes. Stay here and straighten up this mess!” 

“And I'll just stay here and hel—”

Mr. Grey rounded on Tíli before Tíli could finish his sentence. "Absolutely not." He said, up-to-here with all the nonsense billowing about. "I have no doubt you'd find a way to make _this_ ,” He waved around the room, “ _Worse_.”

Tíli sniffed, affronted, "that's unnecessary," but fixed his jacket and trailed after his brother and Mr. Grey nonetheless. 

Alone and overwhelmed, Tilda breathed a sigh and rolled up her sleeves. Off to the right, a bookshelf groaned and finally surrendered under the weight of another, buckling and sending another cloud of dust into the air.

She grimaced and got to work. 


	5. A Bad Day To Be In Charge

_Sahara – Hamanaptra Ruins – 1925_ (3 years ago)

It was going to be a lousy day. Fíli said as much to Alfrid, who’d scuttled his way to Fíli’s side as the other men hurried through the ruins, preparing for the impending onslaught. From his position on the wall, Fíli watched the screaming horde of Tuaregs quickly closing distance across the sand, the stampede of their horses shaking the ground beneath Fíli’s boots.

“Personally,” Alfrid gulped through a thick French accent, “I would like to surrender. Why can we not just surrender?”

Fíli narrowed his eyes at Alfrid, shaking his head in agitation. How Alfrid had managed to last so long was a mystery Fíli cared little to figure out. The man was slimy and wet and was inspired to moan about everything with almost every breath. Yet, somehow, here he was, marched into the middle of the desert on the back of some halfwitted command that Fíli was sure was going to get them killed.

“Shut up and give me your bandolier.” Fíli demanded, holding out a waiting hand, his eyes trained ahead as the horde thundered closer and closer, sand clouding up and almost obscuring the approaching Tuaregs. 

Alfrid struggled out of his cartridge belt and gave it to Fíli without a word. Fíli would have liked to believe Alfrid trusted his judgement. The reality was more that Alfrid was shaking in his boots and unable to think for himself at that point, leaning into commands that might keep him alive long enough to see the sun rise tomorrow.

“Let’s run away, right now. While we can still make it.” Alfrid said in a frantic rush, eyes bulging as he took in the sight of his possible demise. Closer and closer the Tuarges came. Alfrid shrunk into himself, leaning back as if the extra inches would save him.

Fíli ignored him, “Now give me your revolver.” Alfrid gasped and shook his head. “Oh, come on, you’ll never use it anyway!”

Resigned, Alfrid chucked his revolver at Fíli who slid it into his belt beside his own.

“Now,” Fíli said, “go find me a big stick.”

“What? In the desert? What for?”

Fíli turned and slanted into Alfrid’s space until they were nose to nose, fixing Alfrid with an angry stare.

“So I can tie it to your back. It looks like you lost your spine.”

The horde was barely half a mile out now. Their scimitars rattled and their battle-cries shrieked through the air with the force of the wind, hitting Fíli like a physical thing. Standing, Fíli pulled Alfrid up and pushed him around and down the pathway into the belly of the ruins. Together, they ran, Fíli keeping Alfrid ahead of him so the idiot wouldn’t abandon their mission for cowardice.

“How’d a guy like you end up in the Foreign Legion anyways!?” Fíli wondered, hoping to distract Alfrid from his panic.

It might not have worked but Alfrid answered all the same. “I got caught robbing a synagogue.” He admitted, “Lots of good stuff in holy places; churches, temples, mosques. And who’s guarding them?”

“Altar boys?” Fíli guessed.

“Exactly! I speak seven languages, including Hebrew, so my speciality was synagogues. How about you?” Alfrid spun around without warning, surprising Fíli into tripping over Alfrid’s feet and taking them both to the ground. Alfrid continued his question weakly from beneath Fíli’s broader, heavier form. “Kill somebody?”

Fíli growled, a nasty expression on his face. “I’m definitely considering it.”

They got to their feet in a hurry and ran through a gate and down a stone ramp, bodies propelled forward by the noise of the horde.

“What then!?” Alfrid yelled, curiosity clearly getting the better of him, “Robbery? Extortion? Kidnapping!”

“None of the above, thank you!”

“Then what the hell are you doing here!?”

They skidded to a stop at the front line. Fíli grabbed Alfrid’s collar to keep him from flying too far ahead from the momentum. The noise was deafening now; Fíli was hardly able to hear anything over the charge of horses and the screams of their riders.

With a lopsided smile, Fíli replied, “I was just looking for a good time!!” just as a flash of movement caught his eye from behind Alfrid.

Oh hell.

The Legionnaire Colonel was making a break for it. Dropped his weapon in obvious fear and bolted. Fíli stiffened and Alfrid noticed and the two gave each other a quick look of shared surprise.

“Seems like you got yourself promoted.”

“Shit!” Fíli cried, shoving Alfrid away to take command. “STEADY!” He called as loud as he could, part of him grateful that the other men hadn’t taken the Colonel’s lead and deserted—was what he was thinking until he noticed more men cast away their weapons and follow their Colonel as the pounding hoofs drew nearer, practically on top of them.

“What the hell am I saying?” Fíli muttered, holding his position with as much strength and bravery as a man could muster in their voice when his odds were so slim. “STEADY!” He called again.

More legionnaires tucked their tails between their legs and ran. Alfrid, the ass, saw that as his cue and joined them in their escape, fleeing before Fíli had a chance to grab him.

“What the hell am I doing?” Fíli clenched his fists in an effort to maintain some semblance of control. “STEADY!”

Fíli steeled himself, waiting for exactly the right moment, praying that enough men were still around him to listen to his command. He cocked and locked his revolvers and took steady aim. Another beat and then:

“FIRE!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enfin! we have Fíli!


	6. What Is It?

Kíli’s blood was molten sugar with excitement, rushing through him like a stampede. He could hardly hear himself speak, the words tripping and tumbling from his mouth as he hurried to explain everything he’d figured out in the brief seconds he’d had to examine the object before the raucous in the library forced his attention.

In all the hullabaloo, Kíli hadn’t registered the folded square of papyrus contained within the object; fragile and ancient and worth all the wealth of the world a thousand times over – in Kíli’s humble opinion. His grin broadened when his eyes met Tíli’s over Mr. Grey’s head. Tíli seemed flabbergasted, overwhelmed by the significance of his discovery.

It was far more than a fancy metal box and nothing in the grandeur of Tíli’s imagination could’ve prepared him for that.

“Oh my,” He said, agog, bending over Mr. Grey’s shoulder to get a better look. Kíli did the same on Mr. Grey’s other side.

Mr. Grey was sat rigid behind his desk, back and neck getting visibly more tense the longer the brothers hovered over him. He waved them back, knocking his elbows out to emphasize his request, and then slowly, gently, _can-never-be-too-_ carefully, unfolded the papyrus. It was as thin and delicate as flakes of phyllo and Mr. Grey worked as precisely as he ever had.

At his back, Kíli stuffed his hands in the pocket of his slacks, wiggled his fingers, and his toes in his shoes, just to give the surge of seismic energy quaking through him somewhere to go, something to do. Tíli wasn’t so subtle: He paced this way and that, a sequence of aborted gestures – bringing his thumb up to bite his nail, huffing, shaking his head, lifting an arm, _heel-toe-turn-around_ , and so on.

“By Allah…” Mr. Grey sounded as though he’d laid eyes on the Ark of the Covenant, reverent and filled with a wonder too big to fit in his voice. “How did you come by this?”

Impatient and curious, Kíli brushed forward and bowed over the papyrus now spread out over a parcel of Mr. Grey’s desk. The pigments were still bold, the images on the page perfectly distinct as if applied decades - and not a millennia - ago. Kíli’s eyebrows shot up so fast he wasn’t sure that they hadn’t taken flight. He had to clamp a hand down on Mr. Grey’s shoulder, the other on the desk beside the – the— _the map!_ in order to stay upright on legs that felt like cooked spaghetti.

“It can’t be!” Kíli gushed, the realization bursting out of him in a kick.

“Can’t be _what_!?” Tíli snapped, head swishing back and forth between his brother and the map. “What is it!?”

Slowly, as if fighting a physical force to turn his face away from the colors and shapes on the papyrus, Kíli brought his eyes up to meet Tíli’s.

“It’s Hamanaptra.” 


	7. You've Killed It!

“Hamanaptra?” Tíli couldn’t catch his breath, head spinning and heart like a marching band behind his ribs. _It couldn’t be!_ “Are you – are you _certain_?”

“Reasonably.” Kíli replied, grin spreading across his face and eyes crinkling with enthusiasm. He grabbed Tíli by the shoulder and shook him, pulling him into his side with a vigor that nearly took Tíli’s feet out from under him. “See this cartouche there?” Kíli pointed to a cluster of symbols that meant nothing to Tíli but Tíli nodded anyway, anxious for Kíli to get on with it, “It’s the official royal seal of Thutmose III, I’m sure of it.”

Mr. Grey cleared his throat. He sounded less lively than he had mere seconds ago when he’d first opened the box, folding his hands and stretching his fingers as if preparing himself for a speech longer than the “Perhaps” he opted to mutter.

Kíli raised an incredulous eyebrow and brushed a finger in the air over the obvious markings on the map that supported his claim. “If I could date it, I would say that this is, without a doubt, at the very least, over three thousand years old.” 

“Cor blimey … ” Tíli collapsed into one of the uncomfortable, decorative chairs along the wall and clutched his chest. The weight of possibility gripped him; he never imagined he could procure anything so remarkable in his life. At first, when he’d seen the object, he’d thought, at most, it was nifty and likely worth enough to keep him afloat for the month until he received his stipend. What Kíli was suggesting …

Tíli ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into further disarray. After giving himself a moment to catch his bearings, he had to know, “Now, tell me brother, does this mean the legends are true?”

“Perhaps.” Kíli acquiesced, “Perhaps not. It’s a map, most definitely, and, according to the hieratics, everything indicates that it leads to Hamanaptra.” He watched his brother’s face tighten in preparation for disappointment. It wouldn’t be right to keep his thoughts, reasonable as they were, to himself. “Tíli, legends are usually more grand that the reality. It may not be that Hamanaptra was all it is said to be.”

“Of course.” Tíli said and pulled himself to his feet, marching closer to Mr. Grey’s desk. His voice took on an animated pitch, “but it’s _real_?”

Mr. Grey, who’d allowed the exchange to continue over his head without any interference, finally spoke up, “Both of you, don’t be ridiculous.” He lifted the map to his nose to examine it with a halfhearted eye, “We are scholars, not treasure hunters. Hamanaptra is a myth told to tourists—”

“Yes yes yes,” Tíli flapped Mr. Grey’s argument away, “All for entertainment. Hamanaptra had a big underground chamber that housed all the wealth in Egypt, rigged to sink into the sand at Pharaoh’s command. A flick of the switch and the whole necropolis disappears beneath the dunes!” He was giddy as a schoolgirl, whirling around the front of Mr. Grey’s desk to the other side to join Kíli, smack his hands down on his brother’s shoulders as they shared a wistful smile. “Incredible! And it could be _real_!”

“It could.” Tíli’s exhilaration was contagious. Kíli spun back to the map in Mr. Grey’s hands, motioning at the images. “What we know for sure is that the city vanished around 2134 B.C.”

Mr. Grey grumbled deeply in his throat, lifting the map ever-so-slightly higher when he leaned a fraction forward. “All fairytales and hokum.”

Quite suddenly, Mr. Grey reared back, calling out as the candle on his desk licked the corner of the papyrus, lighting it in a burst of small flame. He tossed the map over the edge of his desk and onto the floor, pushing back into his chair as if to escape any danger.

Kíli and Tíli lunged toward the map, Tíli patting out the flame with his palms as quickly as he could. To his dismay, a third of the map had been burned away.

“You’ve burned it, you’ve burned off a part of the lost city!” He accused. 

Mr. Grey didn’t sound the least bit sorry when he assured, “All for the best, I’m sure. Many men have wasted their lives in the foolish pursuit of Hamanaptra, no one has ever found it. Most have never returned.”

“Most didn’t have a map!” Tíli wailed. Devastated, he sunk into himself, “You killed my map.”

“I’m sure it was fake anyway,” Mr. Grey dismissed and turned to Kíli, “I’m surprised at you, Mr. Durin, to be so fooled. Caught up in your brother’s nonsense, no doubt.”

There was something strange about Mr. Grey’s demeanor that made Kíli suspicious and drove him to swipe the box off the desk before Mr. Grey could grab it. He shoved it in his pocket and fixed his expression so it wouldn’t give away how on edge this very unlikely _accident_ left him.

Without another word, Kíli gestured for Tíli to come along and together they left the office, both feeling sour. 


	8. Confessions

Eavesdropping was impolite, Tilda knew, but that hadn’t stopped her from listening outside the door to Mr. Grey’s office. She remained tucked behind one of the statues flanking the door when Kíli and Tíli exited, both exuding auras of gloom and ire as they marched down the corridor and back toward the library, probably to check on her minimal progress.

Tilda waited a beat to make sure Mr. Grey wasn’t going to follow, then scurried after them. They were already in the library, arguing in hushed tones and grabbing the metal object Kíli had presented earlier from one another like children fighting over a toy.

“— can’t just go into this half-cocked!” Kíli finished saying before he caught sight of Tilda where she shouldn’t be. Tíli opened his mouth – for a rebuttal, no doubt – but snapped it closed again as soon as he realized what had caught his brother’s attention.

Kíli cleared his throat and took a step back from Tíli, pocketing the object once more, saying lamely, “Tilda. I thought you were still over there ... somewhere?”

Tilda wrung her fingers together, regret and embarrassment roiling in her gut, “Yes, well, it’s … a lot, tidying all this, by myself. Of course, I will!” She hurried to add because it was her fault that the library was in such a tragic state. “Only, I was hoping to ask for help?” Which was true; that was why she’d been at Mr. Grey’s office in the first place.

Kíli hesitated, expression still shadowy and tight. Whether he was considering her request, or his mind was still on what he and Tíli had been arguing about, Tilda wasn’t sure.

“Yes.” He said at last, “Yes, absolutely; ask Abdul and Mohammad. Bob should be around as well. I’ll seek him out for you.”

“Thank you.” Except that wasn’t all Tilda wanted now that her curiosity had been piqued. “Kíli?”

“Hmm?” He was distracted once more by the object that he’d pulled again from his pocket, frowning at it and at Tíli in turns.

“If I may ask? You seem troubled.”

Tíli, who’d been sulking quietly to himself, scoffed, “Because he _is_ troubled, dear girl. Though it’s completely ludicrous! He could be _less troubled_ if he’d simply agree with me!”

“Agree with you about what?”

Tilda was a wonderful judge of certain matters, especially ones involving puzzling artifacts and other facets of Ancient Egyptian history.

“To get ourselves on a boat and down the Nile!”

Kíli whirled around, “Not without getting more information first! You must’ve had a colleague with you who would remember the exact location you found this,” His eyes narrowed, “Since your memory seems to be failing you.”

“Well, I don’t!”

“Well, you should! How _very_ unlike you." Kíli mocked, "I’m surprised you kept your mouth shut about this with so many others around to gloat to!”

“I didn’t know then that it was so valuable!”

“Of course you didn’t.” Kíli threw his arms in the air and spun on his heel, took two paces and then turned back to Tíli, jabbing an accusing finger at him, “Where did you get this, really?”

“I told you—”

“And you _lied_.”

Tilda ah-hemed demurely, a quaint little cough that skipped through the dense animosity clouding the room. The brothers ceased their quarreling to offer her their focus. “Where, Tíli, did you say you found it?”

“On a dig down in Thebes.”

“When did you find time to go to Thebes in the three days since I last saw you?”

“Ah-ha!” Kíli looked more vindictive than victorious.

Tíli stammered the beginnings of many unsound excuses in the span of a second, making him sound like a scolded sheep. His words, when he could find them, were twisty and clumsy as he tried (and failed) to sew together any explanation he could. After nearly a minute of this unpleasantness, he gave up and wilted on the spot. “Right. Fine. I didn’t find it in Thebes.”

“And where _did_ you find it, then, hm?” Kíli pressed.

Giving a long, defeated sigh and scrubbing a hand over his face, Tíli wheezed, “We’ll need to visit the prison.”

Kíli and Tilda gasped, their eyes going round as dinner plates.

“Why?” Tilda squeaked at the same time Kíli said, “ _Oh_ you bloody idiot.”


End file.
